One Who Wanders (abiona) wrote,
One Who Wanders

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not complaining, just thinking

I feel like I'm at the edge of something, some transition. This is the strongest the sensation has been since I left the Midwest ... it's so intense, I feel winded when I think, as though I'm going to double over if I don't find my way. I have to keep trying to go forward, or I'll crumple under this self-created pressure. I'm going to try to hold on to my dignity this time, and hope I land on my feet with a new perspective. Circumstances are guiding me towards growth, towards the very difficult but (usually rewarding) act of reinventing my perception of myself.

I have an interview Wednesday evening ... I am still trying to figure out how to get there, but get there I shall. My mother visited me over the weekend, and we went out driving in the area, looking for places to rent. I must not fall into negativity and think of these hopes as things that are displayed for me, but not permitted to me. Rather, they should be goals. Depression is what prohibits me from a place of my own, so I should keep up my resolve, and work past it as best I can.

Mr. and Mrs. Dance had a get-together for one of their dance companies on Friday night. One woman brought her energetic seven-year old daughter with her, and somehow, I wound up pretending with the child for the rest of the evening. We disguised ourselves as aliens and as French maids with hand towels, were invisible people, and ghosts who could sing. "Mommy and Baby" is still not a favorite game of mine (as in years past, I would much rather be a penguin, parrot, or kangaroo), but I survived it, and somehow we moved on to snacks. We ran around in circles quite merrily for much of the night, which no doubt bemused and elated the mother, who could take a break and discuss whatever it was she wanted to discuss.

When you're not trying to stuff food or vitamins down their throats, and are just focusing on having fun, it's easier to see and appreciate the vastly different perspective on things that young children possess. The basement, which to an adult is rather mundane and full of boxes and random furniture, becomes a mysteriously cool place full of potential wonders. The dimly lit stairs down to the garage are transformed into a journey, and the concrete box with cars in it becomes a cavern full of something amazing.

I still retain enough of this in me to be able to live in a world beyond an adult's "normal." In this little girl, I could see how much of it I allowed to vanish. Though I can still play as though I am many feet shorter and many years younger, I am missing that blissful self peace that most children possess. I think I let this balance escape, and in the subsequent void, I placed anxieties. These, while thinly masked, have become so embedded, they are difficult to face head-on.

Middle school is when I completely stopped being comfortable in my own skin. This could be attributed to a lot of things that happened then (hormones, anyone?), but living surrounded by dancers as I currently do, my attention returns to the fact that those years are when I quit dancing. Dance had been a huge part of my life, so much so that even today, I cannot bring myself to part with my old shoes, tie-dyed ballet skirt, and unitard. Though I eventually accepted the end of my dancing days, I never quite forgave myself for it. My journal entries of those middle school years were thick with a self-disgust that has only just begun to lift. Looking back, I realize that I did not associate any of my weight gain in that time with puberty, but rather thought of it as an inevitable punishment accompanying the loss of muscle tone. After having sustained an attitude like that for years, is no wonder that I still struggle against an intense dislike and distrust of my body.

And so, every time my mother would tell someone that I had a "modern dancer spirit" in me, and that back then, I knew how to "take the stage," or that people "couldn't take their eyes off" me, I felt like I was going to die of embarrassment. It's been so long, and I've hated myself so much, I can't remember how it felt anymore. That distaste for myself would bubble up in response, and I would use snide remarks to try to minimize the confidence of those statements.

What will it take for me to be satisfied with body and mind? It's hard to say, but there's a modern dance class starting on Thursday, so I am going to don my old black unitard and face the toughest opponent of all ... my own creation, my own self-hatred.


I have a functioning version of Photoshop now, and paid/permanent accounts are now permitted a gigantamungus one hundred icons, so new icons have been made. Also, I mentioned A-Cen was random crazy fun, right?

Tonight's final pearl of wisdom is this: if you ask old wiring to carry four air conditioning units and one industrial-strength hairdryer, then somewhere, a fuse will most assuredly blow.
Tags: dance

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